Terrible Assistants
by Rumbleandroar
Summary: A series of chapters in which two OCs tag along on cases with Sherlock and John. Lighthearted- just funny little chapters with nothing too heavy in case you want a break from the hardcore feels sometimes. My friend and I ship Johnlock so hard so if you guys are good- watch for the themes. Willing to take scenario requests. T for future language.
1. Life at Baker Street

"Hah! Hey, Sherlock, take a look at this." A small, sturdy man with a good-spirited air about him stepped quickly for us, his footsteps echoing off the high-ceilinged cavern walls. He put the petite flashlight he had been holding in between his teeth to free up his hands so he could untie us. You see, my friend and I were in a rather compromising position, bound back to back by thick, quite irritating, ropes. A second, taller man appeared around the corner. He was armed with a standard handgun and a similar flashlight. The moment he saw us he spun around with a flourish of the long coat he was wearing and aimed his weapon outward. I decided he was keeping watch for our captor while we were in the process of being freed.

"Don't these lot remind you of anyone, Sherlock?" The man continued, struggling with our restraints. Sherlock barely turned around and only 'hmmed' in response.

"Namely... us?" The man coaxed.

Without missing a beat, Sherlock retorted, "Those are females, John,"

John pursed his lips. "Yes, but.. nevermind. Git."

A few seconds went by as I pondered the identity of our saviors. "Aren't you-" I began, before I was curtly cut off.

"Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes and assistant Dr. John Watson, yes." Sherlock interrupted, not bothering to so much as glance at us.

"Well," I said, awkwardly, "I was actually going to say, 'from the papers,' but yes. You are." I grinned, despite my situation, "You two are brilliant! My name is Heidi Pucket and this is-"

"Brienna Lancaster," My companion, Brienna, introduced herself. John looked up at us briefly then quickly resumed his rope-working.

"I'd shake your hands," I offered them, "But, unfortunately..." I looked unsatisfactorily down at my bindings. Dr. Watson smiled warmly and assured us not to worry. Suddenly, a chorus of distant shouts echoed in from another part of the cavern. Sherlock scoffed. "Damn them." he muttered; then, loudly, "Quit blustering around!"

"Sherlock!" A muffled man's voice. "Where are you?"

"The kidnapper is still here!" Holmes called lazily. The footsteps abruptly stopped. As they did, Sherlock shot us a quick glance and rolled his eyes at us giddily- almost the way a son or daughter would roll their eyes at a friend in the room while they spoke on their mobile to a parent. Nevertheless, John stiffened and hastened his work with the knots.

"And he's armed!" Holmes continued. "With a... cutlass?" he mused, his curly head of dark hair bobbed a little in curiosity.

"No, actually-" I started to correct him but he waved an impatient finger behind his back at the three of us.

"Don't say it!" He warned. "TWO cutlasses?"

"Yeah!" Brienna confirmed in amazement. "And they-"

"-take the place of his hands. Brilliant. He must have lackeys somewhere."

John was working at top speed now. "There are more?!" He breathed. We were almost free.

"Well!" Sherlock dropped his gun arm to his side and turned to John with narrowed eyes. "Don't be daft." He practically sang. "Who else would have tied them up?"

"Yeah, John. Don't be daft." I echoed lightheartedly. "Who else COULD have tied us up?" I meant it to be a joke, but right at that moment I saw the understanding in Sherlock's eyes. Luckily for Brienna and me, our bindings had just fallen to the floor. It was time for us to act.

"Vatican Cameos!" Sherlock barked.

My, he was quick wasn't he.

His faithful John Watson spun toward his warning, foolishly convinced the threat was from the opposite direction. Unfortunately for him, it gave Brienna and me the perfect opportunity to draw our pistols and aim them both at his good-natured temple. Both he and Sherlock paled in unison.

"What..." John whispered. Sherlock kept his gun trained on us.

"Come closer, Sherlock, darling." Brienna cooed at him. "We don't bite."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he took a few distrustful steps forward.

"Wait." I uttered, sharply, stopping the man dead in his tracks. It was rather fun. Toying with him like that. "Place the gun on the ground."

Sherlock did so, then straightened up and placed his hands slightly in the air, his coat shuffling to accomodate his movements.

"Good... now. Closer."

"What is going on, Sherlock?" John breathed through clenched teeth.

"Quiet!" He scolded in return. "Need to think." Sherlock's gaze fluttered here and there, undoubtedly checking for scuff marks, stains, miniscule holes, stances, positions, past hints-anything.

"Sherlock doesn't know!" I informed the room.

"And Sherlock Holmes doesn't like not knowing." Brienna added sassily.

"Shut up! Who do you work for? Where's the sword-handed man?"

We ignored his questions, only, "Closer, Sherlock." When he stopped, a mere few inches from John, I moved my gun so it was pointed at his head and Brienna moved closer to John.

"Have you figured it out yet?" I clicked the hammer of my pistol menacingly.

"Sherlock!" John looked furiously between us. A few moments ticked by as Sherlock gazed down at his frantic friend, deep in thought.

"I..." he began helplessly. "Oh, yes! I've got it!" He looked happily to Brienna, and then me. "And, no. Thank you very much." Sherlock dropped his hands to his side and glided away from us and our guns.

"No?!" questioned John.

"Yes, John, no! I've deduced it! Although I'm not quite sure how Cutlass-Man relates to this just yet, but I do know neither he nor his non-existant minions tied you up because YOU tied you up. As bait. And, really, tying oneself up isn't an easy task so I appreciate your effort. Moving on to why." He was gibbering a million miles a minute, "Why all this? One could assume your actresses hired by your employer to get to me. But WHY, then, not just show up at Baker Street posing as clients or.. bloody solicitors for that matter? So then it's safe to conclude that you lead me into a trap." Sherlock spun and danced about the cavern like a giddy child showboating as he rattled off deductions.

"But!" He shot us a bright look, "Where's the trap, then? Why make me guess? Why drag John and I out on this long chase-"

"We figured you'd enjoy the chase." Brienna admitted, taking a hold of John's arm and pressing the gun to the side of his head.

"But you also knew the Yard would tag along-" Sherlock blustered on. "Ah! Hence the Cutlass-Man! He's going to slaughter those blokes." He made a face suddenly as he realized what he just said.

"What!" John yelped, "You've got to stop him Sherl-"

"Stop." Sherlock put up one hand. "This is ludicrous. Why are we doing this?"

Brienna and I sighed and lowered our plastic guns. "You almost had it!" I claimed in exasperation.

"No." Sherlock corrected. "I did have it-"

"Wait!" John appeared miffed. "So what was it?" he inquired impatiently. "What was the trap? You guys had me going!"

"They wanted us to kiss, John." Sherlock relented into his steepled hands. John looked at him blankly.

"Wha... Kiss? Each other?" Then he promptly wheeled on us, hands thrown in the air, "Jesus! You two are worse than Mrs. Hudson!"

Suddenly, we all glanced toward the kitchen, having been transported back to 221b Baker Street. Indeed, the vibrant, aging woman was silently and curiously peering at us from beside Sherlock's table of chemicles and lab equipment. The moment we noticed her presence she straightened up, and having been caught off guard, practically shouted,

"Oh! Keep going dears, it was getting good!"

"You WOULD say that you little-"

"What was that, John?"

"I said, 'still waiting on that tea, Mrs. Hudson!'"

"Not your housekeeper, dear!" Though, of course, she retreated back into the small kitchen to fill the kettle. "Sherlock," she called, "You never told me you were a fan of pretend games." Amusement was spilling from her tone. We all cackled as Sherlock shifted toward her and inhaled loudly.

"Not pretend, Mrs. Hudson, theoretical scenarios. And I'm not a fan, they tend to reduce my endless torrent of boredom to a trickle if they're not... mediochre." Sherlock slid his ice-blue gaze to us. A few moments of silence passes as two identical foam darts bounced off of Sherlock's perfect hair and onto the carpet. As John spun around and attempted, in vain, to pretend he wasn't having a good laugh, Sherlock tipped his head forward, pushed his hands into his hair and gave his locks a hearty Sherlockian Shake.


	2. Helping Mycroft

Okay so I'm gonna have to do this chapter in parts because it's getting pretty long... these chapters (other then these two) aren't usually going to be affiliated with one another... it's sort of just story drabble. Like episodes you can watch out of order. But if one gets too long I'll label it into parts. I know I mentioned these wouldn't be too heavy but this one wasn't really as humorous as I had hoped. I hope you like the storyline though!

* * *

Part One

"These two are monsters!" I grabbed fistfuls of my hair and tucked myself into the musty carpet, leaving Brienna to stand helplessly next to my curled body. It had only been a few minutes since the young couple we were babysitting for- Nick and Samantha Lovett- left for the day, and already their two sons Brennan and Kyle were running about the cramped flat, whizzing on the sofa, and running amuck with a lit cigarette between his teeth, respectively.

"We can't give up!" Brienna cried bravely. She threw her energy into chasing Kyle, who was coughing and choking on smoke. These boys were only eight!

"Can't we smack them?" I asked miserably- my question muffled into my knees.

"No!" I could totally hear the longing in her voice.

"Fine." I spat. I stood up, rolling my sleeves to my elbows and prepping myself for the worst. I let something small snap in me, revealing a secret reserve of quiet rage. I brushed off my clothing, let out a breath, and approached Brennan, who had already pulled up his trousers and was seemingly ready to move on to something else. In one fell swoop I picked him up and threw him across my shoulders 'Ole Yeller' style. He immediately screeched with all his might into my ear canal and yanked at my hair, but I had already steeled myself against his assualts. The minute we reached the kitchen I whipped him off of my back and took hold of his small shoulders, pinning him to the fridge.

"Where does your mother keep the cleaning supplies?" There was no way Brennan heard me over his screaming. I wondered if the neighbors would call the police, but I quickly dismissed the idea. This couldn't have been the first time these boys had misbehaved. I tried to remain as calm as possible as Brennan kicked mercilessly at my shins and shouted curses at me- again, only eight- but I could tell he was getting tired. Brienna inched around us to dispose of Kyle's spent cigarette butt and eventually, she carried him in as well. The stale lighting illuminated the kids' angry features as we pondered what to do, feeling hopeless.

"We'll let you two go as soon as you calm down- there's nothing you can do otherwise." I warned. It was the best I could think of at the moment. Apparently, Brennan thought he would take my statement as a challenge and he promptly hocked a huge wad of spit onto my cheek. I reeled back, appalled, and yet, somewhat impressed. However, I didn't release my grip on Brennan one bit and kept a deadly glare on him as I wiped the spittle off of my face.

Kyle giggled and thought it might be fun to treat Brienna the same way, but she was too quick for him and slapped a hand over his ashy mouth. Hauling Brennan behind me, I began to search each and every cabinet until I found a spray that claimed to eliminate odors. I practically dragged the young boy into the living room, slapped the bottle into his hands, aimed him at the sofa, and ordered, "Clean."

Brennan only growled and started to bolt, but I caught him.

"_Clean._" I seethed. I was vaguely aware that Brienna was washing Kyle's mouth out in the bathroom. Fuming and realizing he had no escape, Brennan began tenatively spraying at the urine-scented cushions. I breathed a small sigh of relief- we were getting somewhere.

"What now?" Brienna exited the bathroom with Kyle in tow, his face red with rage. I sucked in air thoughtfully.

"Now... I need a break. Already."

"Agreed."

The boys started to protest. I'm sure they thought we would be throwing them into their rooms for the day, but I had a different idea.

"We're going to have ice cream." I announced. "We're going to have ice cream and watch a movie with the two boys we're supposed to be babysitting because that stuff is fun and whatever this is-" I motioned to the soggy sofa, "-isn't fun"

I could tell the boys were struggling with themselves, then. Should they swallow their pride for a bit of mid-day dessert or show no mercy and beat us down? I knew full well which one they would choose, and so did Brienna, so I lifted the cleaner from Brennan and headed for the freezer while Brienna hunted down the dvds. A loud knock sounded at the front door. Brienna shot me a strange look from the living room. I laughed.

"No one wonders why they're screaming- only why they've stopped."

Brienna giggled and went downstairs to pacify whoever it was that was concerned. A few moments later, she called up the stairs.

"Heidi?"

"Yeah?"

Silence.

"Brienna?"

"...Call Mycroft."

Worry jolted through me. I started immediately for the stairs, dropping the ice cream and the utensils for it, when I realized there was a good reason Brienna had given me instructions. I pressed my phone to my ear and waited until it was at least ringing before heading down to see what the trouble was. Both Brienna and I had Mycroft Holmes on speed dial, along with the numbers of Sherlock, John, and Gregory Lestrade- all in the case of an emergency. I rushed down the steps but the minute I saw the figure in the doorstep at 324 Brookwood Street, I slowed to a halt.

"Yes?" It was a lazy greeting of which only Mycroft was capable.

"Mycroft... there is a man here with a gun and a badge... uhm.." I stammered out, locking eyes with the strange, uniformed man.

"Oh, yes, I've sent him."

I let out a huge sigh, the fear leaving my body. It was Mycroft. Mycroft was the emergency.

"Well, what do you want?"

"I need your help with something." He drawled.

"Mine?" I puzzled.

"And Brienna's."

I glanced over at my friend. She was in the process of placing her hand on the man's gun and lowering it so it was no longer pointing at her.

"For what? And you can't possibly mean right now... We're in the middle of babysitting two-" The boys had appeared at the top of the stairs. "Wonderful children." I finished.

"Yes. Right now." He sounded urgent and a tad irritated. "A car is waiting for you outside. Get in. Everything can be explained on the way."

To Brienna I mouthed, "Text Sherlock." Then,"What are you going to do, Mycroft? Shoot us?" I asked incredulously.

"No. But I think you're forgetting the damage a government official can do to a person's life." His tone was surprisingly threatening. I made a mental note to move his number down on my list of people to call if I were ever in trouble. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Just... fine. Can you at least wait until Sherlock gets here?"

"My brother..." he began distastefully, "Why?"

I made a face as if he could see it. "Kids!" I blustered. "The kids, Mycroft!" After that I hung up sassily and leaned against the wall.

"Sherlock's on his way." Brienna informed me, then she called up the stairs. "You two are gonna have a different babysitter tonight, okay? Make sure he remembers your ice cream."

We didn't get a response. I hoped the kids weren't too scared. We both looked disprovingly at the man with the gun, but he didn't make a move to stow it away.

The Lovett household was only a few streets from Baker so it didn't take Sherlock long at all to arrive. His long coat billowed around him as he pushed past the man blocking our exit to see himself inside.

"Mycroft is here." He told us. Brienna must not have mentioned it in her text.

"He needs our help with something."

"_Your_ help?" Sherlock was glancing quickly around, but I could tell his eyesight was impaired from the transition to the dark flat. The moment he adjusted properly, his gaze surfed over the two of us. He looked concerned, "You've been attacked."

"We haven't-" I said, confused.

"The kids." Brienna explained. Oh, right.

"You need to take care of them for us. Mycroft isn't letting us off the hook."

"What? Why can't John do it?"

"John is at work." Brienna informed him.

"No, he was at the flat- I just talked to him not..." he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, trying to recall something. "How many hours ago was it?" Sherlock mumbled to himself. "Well, what about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Vacation." I explained.

The mobile in my hand buzzed. 'I'm becoming impatient -MH'

"Ugh. We have to go. Good luck with those kids."

Sherlock was already climbing the stairs, "Good luck with my brother."

We were swiftly ushered into the dark, government-issued vehicle where Mycroft Holmes was waiting. The minute we took our seats, the door was closed behind us- a gesture that, under any other circumstances, would have seemed threatening.

"You know," I began, glaring at Mycroft, "This thing you do.. this- what did John call it? That I liked so much?"

"Power complex." Brienna supplied.

"Thank you. That. Stop doing that."

"Ladies." Mycroft gazed lazily out the window, ignoring my statement. "There is an extremely important party tonight. And-"

"You need dates?" Brienna gasped. "Jesus, Mycroft, why didn't you just ask."

He glanced peculiarly at her. "I can see why Sherlock and John are fond of you." Mycroft cleared his throat, "No. I'm asking you to attend this party in lieu of three other girls who, unfortunately, won't be able to make it. You see, an upwards of 200 lives are at stake."

We both blanched, not daring to take our eyes off of him.

"And... you're trusting us to save them? By attending a _party_?" I couldn't piece together exactly what Mycroft wanted us to do. Why couldn't Sherlock and John help him? Or even the Yard?

"It's a particular party. Only one specific group of individuals will be attending beside you two. That group is known as the Venus Rose Gang. They're wanted criminals, and they're hoping to do business with the British government during this party tonight."

"Why can't you just book 'em? Throw them in prison?" We inquired.

"Like I said. They have over two hundred hostages someplace and _we don't know where_."

Brienna sucked in air. I let my head fall dejectedly into my hands. Mycroft let the information sink in for a few moments. Finally, I lifted my head.

"So why us?"

He moved his gaze back to Brienna and I. "Well, we've dealt with this gang in the past. They've always made demands for the same three girls- the life of the party, Katherine Wells, Mabel Marie, and Sharon Winneca. They weren't part of the Venus Rose Gang but they were criminals in their own sense. They entertained criminals, and occasionally, they ran 'errands' for them as well, earning money-illegally of course. It's been awhile since we last did business with Venus Rose, and since then the girls have sort of... retired. They married off. One's expecting. And one's got enough money and power to protect all three of them from the British government. We can't threaten them into attending this party tonight. So we need replacements. I could have looked into strangers from off the street, but why hold auditions when I already have two, perfectly trustworthy girls within reach?" He smiled brightly at us as if this were some, once in a lifetime opportunity.

"When you say, 'entertain...'" Brienna asked suspiciously. Mycroft looked out the window once more.

"Nothing sexual, of course." He reassured. "Also, you will be playing a part above the three girls the gang has requested in the past. You will not only be entertaining the criminals, you will need to coax information out of them as well. At all costs, you must find out where those hostages are. We don't know the gang's demands, yet, but they could be too much for us to handle."

"Will we be wearing a wire?" Brienna asked. The result of too many good movies. Mycroft leaned back in his seat like the self-important bastard he was, and confirmed that, yes, we would indeed be waltzing into a ballroom full of dangerous criminals in skimpy dresses wearing, what else, a microphone. It made me uneasy.

"Why?" I asked nervously. "Why can't we just tell you wear the hostages are once we find out?"

"Wouldn't it look rather suspicious if you were to rush off right after they spilled the information? You'll have to stay for the entire event, whatever they tell you will be transmitted directly to us. Oh," Mycroft leaned forward dangerously, "And don't mention my name. The Venus Rose Gang is under the impression that I'm not affiliated with tonight's events at all."

Mycroft refused to explain anything else to us.

* * *

Please rate and review! If anyone has scenario ideas-remember this is just funny drabble- please hit me up! I had some ideas but I promptly forgot them.. This scenario, in which we have to switch 'jobs' with Sherlock was Brienna's idea :)


	3. Tea and Turmoil

Part Two and this baby still isn't finished! *Sigh*

* * *

Part Two

The two boys sized up their new, sallow babysitter.

"Hello," Sherlock greeted awkwardly. "Why does it smell like urine in here?" When neither of the doe-eyed children spoke up, Sherlock pushed his way into the dark flat. Ah, the sofa. There was the culprit. "I'm not going to have fun with you two, are I?"

Ugh. What would John do in this situation? Sherlock really never had to deal with kids before- he had questioned them on past cases, but asking questions wasn't babysitting. He was at a loss. Finding something familiar to do, he scanned the flat. It was rather dark, but he could gather quite a bit of information about the parents of the young boys just from investigating. They were on the younger side of middle-aged, the husband enjoyed golf but the wife disliked when he left her alone with the kids. Neither of them were coffee drinkers but both partook in social smoking and the occasional glass of wine. Something else about the tiny flat struck Sherlock as odd... but it didn't quite register in his mind. He didn't pay much attention to it- he knew it would hit him full in the face later. Additionally, the couple must have been careless- they left the ice cream tub sitting out on the counter. Sherlock leaned over the counter and grabbed at it, no- still frozen. The girls had left it out.

"Oh, perfect." Sherlock was relieved. "Something to occupy them with."

He called the boys into the kitchen, but neither of them answered him. "Sorry- what are your names?" Sherlock tried. Silence. "Uh... kid- kiddos?" Nothing. "Skipperdoo's?"

Sherlock felt like an absolute dolt. He slammed the ice cream back on the counter and stalked into the living room. There was no one in sight. He stepped a little further, "I should have you know," he called out, "I'm the number one consulting detective in the world. Well, no. I'm the only consulting detective in the world. Know what that means?" Sherlock was bustling around the room as he spoke, combing the area for signs of the missing children. "Means there hasn't been a puzzle yet I couldn't solve. So when I find you-"

From out of nowhere there was a giggle, and something shattered against Sherlock's tough skull. He whirled around, then promptly thought better of it, having gotten extremely light-headed from the blow.

"Was that... was that a _lamp?_ Did you just through a _lamp_ at me?"

In response, there was only another giggle, and Sherlock still had no idea where it was issuing from. He was beginning to realize he may have met his biggest match yet.

* * *

Mycroft entered the messy suite-bathroom that had been designated as our dressing room. The moment we had arrived at the luxurious Connaught Hotel, Brienna and I had been swiftly locked in one of the suite's many lavatories and forced to endure torture in its highest form. Annette and a few other young ladies I didn't recognize or know the names of fussed over us for hours- they burned our hair into cruel shapes and smeared so many cosmetics on our faces I began to feel top heavy. All the while they were complaining about the awful state we were in, having previously dealt with two awful devil-children. I looked over at Brienna and I could tell her patience was wearing extremely thin, though she was doing a much better job at hiding it than I was. I could barely sit still enough for my own mother to help me get ready for dances let alone being a plaything for people I didn't much care for. So, naturally, the minute I saw Mycroft-the cause of all this- I swore loudly. He took my reaction in stride and merely gazed at the two of us through the mirror we were facing.

"You look beautiful." He said quietly. I wasn't sure if he was trying to appease us but it had been the entirely wrong thing to say. Brienna's ears turned a bright red that should have matched her face had it not been so expertly masked. Anyone else who noticed would have said she was embarrassed or flattered by the statement but I knew she was pissed. So was I.

"Jesus. Are we fucking done, yet?" Brienna spat.

"Sorry. I'm sure you're tired and hungry. There will be plenty of food at the party."

"Just-" I yelled, then got much quieter, "Just... call them off. Please?"

Mycroft nodded at Annette and the others. They tapped at our stiff curls a few last times before hurrying through the door. We both let out huge breaths.

"You need to be perfect for tonight." Mycroft seemed to think that this justified everything that had, or would happen to us today. After a few moments of silence he asked, "Are you nervous?"

Brienna and I didn't answer right away, preferring instead to exchange glances and bounce the thought around the room a little. I adjusted the borrowed necklace around my throat without speaking. I mean, it was obvious to all three of us that we were nervous- no one had given us any instructions about tonight other than to be 'fun' and 'lively' and to get as many people drunk and loose-lipped as we could. Plus we were putting two-hundred lives, not to mention our own, in danger; of course we were nervous, what kind of stupid question is that, Mycroft. Sensing our unease, Mycroft moved to leave, insisting he make us tea for the nerves, but before he left, he thanked us.

"For doing this- really. Thank you."

The door clicked quietly behind him. I sagged a little. "Do you think we're giving him a hard time?" I asked Brienna. "I mean, if we think about it, he's under just as much, if not more, pressure than we are."

Brienna seemed to agree but she admitted, "He understands. He knows he's asking something huge of us. It isn't easy for anybody."

I nodded. Before we could really hash this all out and mentally prepare each other for tonight, Brienna's mobile chimed. "It's Sherlock." She clicked a button. "Hello?" Pause. "What's going on?" Long pause. Brienna made an outraged face. "They ate what? _What? _How many?" Short pause. "Sherlock, how in the _sam hell_ did those kids get surgical screws? Do you realize that when you babysit children you have to _keep an eye _on the children? Did you even stay in the flat!?"

I gaped at her. She sighed in frustration.

"Well... you're going to have to take them to see Uncle John, I guess." Another pause. "No, Sherlock he's at the _clinic._ Yeah. Okay, bye." Brienna slammed her phone down on the vanity and threw her head in her hands, not caring in the slightest what piece of Annettes' artwork she screwed up in the process. "I swear. No one gives a damn about us until they need something..." She trailed off and shook her head. After a bit more well-deserved downtime, we exited the lavish bathroom and located our way back to the main room of the enormous suite where two steaming mugs of jasmine tea were waiting for us.

"Take a seat, girls." Mycroft ordered. He was flanked by two nameless, yet rather attractive, young men. Annette and the other ladies were milling about as well. "We need to tell you who you are."

"What?" I paled. "We have to remember things?"

"Not much. You two are the younger sisters of Mabel Marie. When the three girls retired, Mabel suggested a line of work for you- criminal entertainers. This conveniently solved your problem of needing money, her problem of needing to retire, and our problem of needing replacements. It's as simple as that. You don't even have to bring it up unless someone inquires." Mycroft seemed pretty proud of himself. He even swung his cane in a small circle. "The party is in about thirty minutes, so drink up and then head down there."

"That's it? No last minute training? No crash course in coaxing information out of dangerous criminals?" I looked back and forth between Mycroft and his two lackeys, trying to keep my anxiety from bubbling over. "What do we _do?_"

Mycroft grinned. "Socialize. Have a few drinks if it makes them more apt to."

"Where are our microphones?" Brienna asked.

"Threaded through your dress." Mycroft smiled again. "Does it make you feel any better if even you couldn't notice them?"

I couldn't help but grin a little. It did make me feel better.

* * *

"Ehm... Uncle John?" Sherlock nudged Kyle and Brennan into John Watson's tiny office. He had been idly doing paperwork for the past twenty minutes and, though he wouldn't have admitted it, he was glad for any distraction.

"Sherlock? Why..." John glanced from his tall friend the small counterparts, slowly setting his pen down, "Do you have- children?"

"Because you had to work today, John." He retorted.

"What."

"Mycroft whisked the girls away on a case and you are at _work._ Not to mention Mrs. Hudson's vacation. When was anyone going to tell me about that?"

Fully intrigued now, Dr. Watson swivelled his chair a complete rotation to face the strange scene before him. "First of all, Mrs. Hudson hugged you before she left. Twice. And second... Mycroft has the girls on a _case?_"

"Yeah, I mean probably. So I had to babysit for them."

John ignored him. "A case... " He couldn't hide his utter amusement. "Huh. And look at us. Doing mundane things while the girls are off on a CASE."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his best friend, "Yes, John. I of all people know how _terribly numb_ it is to be doing mundane things. Now," He pushed the boys forward, "perform surgery on these brats so I can watch."

"Not a surgeon, Sherlock." John mumbled as he stepped forward to examine the boys.

"Well, yes. That's why it would be a show. Anyway, they've eaten something they shouldn't have and I bet you twenty quid you can't figure out what it is."

John began to protest but with a swish of his coat, Sherlock was out the door. He figured he'd wait out this bloody mess in the other room.

* * *

Please R and R darlings... please? This short (hah, short) should be finished in part three.


	4. Battle in the Ballroom

Here it is. The end- ooooh. Sorry if my knowledge on guns, the British police force, or geography in general isn't quite up to par. I had to do some rather interesting google searches for this chapter so sorry if you notice any inaccuracies! Anyhoo- enjoy!

* * *

Part Three

The ballroom that held our dangerous party was breathtaking. The lighting was a soft glow emitting from half a dozen chandeliers, illuminating deep mahogany tables and rose-pink sofas with golden stripes that smelled faintly of luxurious tobacco. What the entire space lacked in width and depth it definitely made up for in height. I judged that I could make it to the other side of the room if I ran (and hurdled over the fancy seating) in about ten seconds, but the ceiling stretched away from us all, like a rectangular block stood on end. Because of this, most of the chandliers had to be staggered in height and hung quite low so every part of the room was bathed in soothing light.

As Brienna and I swept in, fancy dresses and all, we were met with a few whistles.

"And who are you two lovely young ladies?" A man, who seemed to be the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome approached us from amid a small group of well-dressed strangers. He took our hands with a smile so kind it made me question if we had made it to the right party as we introduced ourselves as Brienna and Heidi Marie, sisters of Mabel.

"I'm Althoff." The man introduced, "Don't be expecting the two-name system around here. I'm sure you understand."

Brienna and I exchanged nervous glances. If these criminals couldn't even trust us with their names, how could we expect them to divulge their greatest current secret? I wondered if Mycroft was beginning to realize the same thing. Althoff continued rattling off names and pointing out their counterparts. Some of whom waved; some didn't even acknowledge us.

"That's Zucco." A tiny balding man. "The Cavaliers." A pleasant-looking middle-aged couple. "Strunz." A young ginger woman who looked like she could kick anyone's ass. "Lyga." A huge, tattooed and mustachioed hulk. "Briggs." Rather tall, glasses boy. "Meinking." An elderly woman. They really had all the bases covered here. Althoff went on but it wasn't long before all the faces began running together in my mind.

"And there should be a few more coming." Althoff finished finally. The sudden end to his ramblings caught Brienna and I off guard and and the three of us stood in awkward silence for a few moments.

'Oh, God.' I thought frantically. 'Entertain!' The minute I spotted the tiny cherry sticking out of Althoff's drink I acted without thought, plucking it off the edge of his glass and placing it between my teeth. I tried to appear flirty and confident as I pushed past him to take a seat in one of the sofas but I only felt nervous and awkward. Brienna followed quickly behind me. I hoped we could make it through tonight.

As soon as we sat down, people flocked to our side and I suppressed the undying urge to shoo them all away. They all looked so nice and pleasant, it was hard to believe we were socializing with one of the most wanted criminal groups in the country. Faces blurred past and strangers began picking us apart. Someone inquired about our 'sister' and her two friends, obviously doubting our abilities to be as wonderful at entertaining as they. I didn't blame them a bit. Brienna and I began to understand that the last people we needed to be at the moment were ourselves.

I looked to Brienna and asked if she wanted a drink. She appeared relieved with the distraction- we weren't drinkers by any means but we needed something to keep our hands busy, not to mention something to take the edge off of the entire situation. I was pretty sure I was sweating all down my back.

"Althoff, dear," I called sweetly, "Would you get my sister and I a couple of drinks?" The moment he left, Zucco called out to us.

"So, girls," he bobbed his shining head in our direction, "Did Mabel ever teach you how to do her little trick?" He waited in amusement for us to answer, as if knowing we couldn't. I looked to Brienna helplessly.

"Uh.." She scrabbled, then settled on a somewhat truth, "Well, to be honest-Zucco? Was it?"

Zucco nodded. It flattered someone if you remembered their name-fake or not. Score one for Brienna.

"To be honest," Brienna continued, "Mabel never told us she could do any tricks."

"She didn't?" He raised his eyebrows, but he didn't look terribly surprised. Damn this man.

"Ah! Mabel's knives. Yeah, I'd like to see that." Good-natured Althoff had returned with our drinks and saved us, for the moment. It occured to me that I probably should have specified the type of drinks we wanted. Whatever it was I had just taken a sip of- it took an effort to keep down. As Brienna and I choked on our nail polish remover, a knife flew between our heads and stuck in the far wall. I screamed a little.

"What the hell-" I began, but the room erupted in startled applause, cutting me off.

"Well done, Strunz!" someone whooped.

"Mabel did teach me a little." Strunz smiled and took a bow, letting her loose red curls swish around her. Brienna and I clapped meagerly.

* * *

John couldn't believe how well-behaved these two boys were. What were their names? Kyle and Brennan. Sweet kids.

"Open wide." John shined a penlight down Brennan's throat- a little red and irritated, but nothing too out of the ordinary. "So, uh. What are your parents up to tonight?" He was trying to make conversation with the little ones- he knew how scary it could be at the doctor's office as a child. He swivelled to Kyle. "Open up."

"Our parents went on errands today. And then they're going to be at the- the Cone-" Brennan struggled to remember. "The Cone- uhm."

Dr. Watson was barely paying attention. Kyle's mouth was inexpicably gray and ashy- he squinted. "The Cone eh? That a restaurant? Kyle did you eat a cigarette?"

"No it's a-"

"No!" Kyle giggled over his brother.

"Hmm.. So how's Sherlock? Is he babysitting you?"

"Sherlock hit us." Brennan relayed solemly. John spit out the pen he had been holding in his mouth.

"He _what?"_

"And he put screws in our ice cream." Kyle added.

"Screws- is- is that what you _ate?"_

"He said it was for a study."

* * *

Out in the lobby, Sherlock was texting Mycroft.

What exactly are you having the girls doing? -SH

Mycroft never texted if he could talk, and Sherlock ignored each and every one of his brother's phone calls until Mycroft relented and answered back.

They're at the Connaught. If you must know. -MH

Doing what? -SH

Suddenly, a muffled shout of fury issued from John's office. "_Sherlock!"_

Annoyed at being torn away from information, Sherlock called lazily back, much to the amusement of the other clients in the waiting room, "Yes, dear?"

There was a shuffle and a murmering, and suddenly, the office door burst open.

"Sherlock." John was seething. "Did you _hit_ these children?"

Sherlock looked up from his mobile, eyes wide. The other patients were no longer amused, they were all glaring at him.

"Uhh.." Sherlock stood up suddenly and practically flew into John's office, slamming the door behind all of them. "Did I WHAT? What have you been telling him!" He wheeled on the boys. They only giggled. John, realizing what happened, let out a huge breath.

"So.. no abuse then? But they still ate the screws?"

"I was penning an essay on the many different types of surgical screws and... yeah they may have gotten their hands on a few."

"_Surgical_ scre..." John sighed. "Well, I guess the best medicine is, uh, time. Anything else they need looked at?" He asked bitterly, but Sherlock was already re-immersed in his phone.

Are you jealous, brother mine? -MH

"Dammit, Mycroft."

John frowned. "Did you ever figure out what the girls were up to?"

"No. Well they're at the Connaught Hotel."

"Really? That place is ritz-"

"Yes, that!" Brennan seemed pleased with himself.

"That, what?" Sherlock mumbled.

"Where our parents are going tonight." He beamed.

Sherlock tore his gaze from his mobile to glance at John.

"That doesn't sound go-" John began.

"No," Sherlock cut him off. "It doesn't." He tossed his phone to his friend, who barely had time to react and trap it between his fingers. "Call Mycroft." Sherlock ordered into his steepled hands. "I need to think."

Sherlock's mind traveled back to the Lovett's small flat. He was beginning to realize what had seemed off about it.

"Do you two move a lot?" He asked the kids. They bobbed their heads yes. "Of course you do. Your flat is tiny- homely- yet all of your possessions, at least the portable ones, are expensive. Means temporary home. Could just be your parents have a well-paying, on-the-road kind of job, but I also noticed you didn't have _any_ family photos in your home. Not one. And those are usually the first things to be unpacked. A family with good money and two kids who doesn't take pictures? Unlikely. Why would a family avoid pictures? Maybe they don't want to be recognized? Maybe they don't want any... evidence. Your parents have done an extremely good job at hiding the fact that they partake in criminal activity."

Kyle and Brennan cocked their heads, not really understanding a thing Sherlock at spoken at them.

"That's sort of a big jump, Sherlock." John handed the phone over. "Not answering."

Sherlock was becoming giddier by the minute. "We're going to the Connaught, John. What time do you get off work?"

"Well, in a few minutes, but-"

"Perfect. Do you have your gun on you?"

"Why would I bring my gun to _work,_ Sherlock?"

"We'll have to stop at Baker street on the way. I suppose we'll need disguises as well-'

"_Disguises_? Can't you just call Mycroft and tell him Brienna and Heidi might be in danger?"

"What!" Sherlock wheeled on John. "And miss all the fun? Don't you see what this means, John?" Sherlock smooshed John's face between his hands and jiggled him a bit as he spoke. "It means Mycroft made a _mistake!_ We have to go rub it in his face!"

With that, Sherlock was running out the door- a very annoyed John tailing behind him ushering Kyle and Brennan along and apologizing to the folks in the waiting room for leaving duty early.

* * *

Mycroft had settled in the room, tea in hand, bulky headset crushing his ears to the sides of his skull- the girls were doing well. They were taking everything in stride the best they could, and already, the party was on the topic of the hostages.

"So when do you plan to give them your demands?" Heidi's voice fed through the microphone followed by a swish of ice cubes. It sounded as if everyone had eased up quite a bit since the beginning of the night.

"Eh. " A much quieter voice sounded. "Not too long now, I guess. I'm enjoying myself." He heard the muffled laughter of a small crowd.

"Would you be a dear and make me another scotch and water, sweetheart?" A man's voice called.

"Sure." Brienna answered flatly. Mycroft laughed in spite of himself. He would hear about that one later. More muffled scuffs and clinks flowed through the headphones and the voices of the Gang became quieter and quieter.

"I'd love to throttle them all." Brienna said. Heidi laughed.

"Maybe we can get the bartenders to hock one in his drink." The two girls laughed. Mycroft leaned forward suddenly. Bartenders? There weren't supposed to be bartenders.

"Could you mix a scotch and water please? With a healthy dose of spit? I won't even mix it in, I promise." Another round of giggles.

"Sounds like someone needs to be cut off." Mycroft paled when he heard the voice of one of the bartenders.

"Dammit, Sherlock!" Mycroft cursed loudly. He yanked the headphones off and called for someone. "Get Lestrade on the phone!" He really should have had the Yard standing by all along. He really should have. Trouble always followed his idiot brother, and Mycroft had a feeling that tonight would be no exception.

* * *

"Sherlock!" We hissed. The other bartender, obviously John, didn't turn around to face us as Sherlock had. "What the hell are you doing here? Where are the kids!" We sobered up pretty damn quick. I was beginning to think everyone around us was acting like three year olds today.

"Shh. Locked in one of the coat closets. Doesn't matter-"

"Mycroft!" I whispered into my dress. "Get someone to check on the kids."

"Listen-" Sherlock continued. "The kids parents are here. The Lovetts."

"What?" Brienna was glaring at him. "No! They aren't!" Sherlock was busying himself trying to peer over her head at the crowd of people a couple of feet away.

"They should- oh! Is- that must be them now." One of the far doors opened and a chorus of shouts erupted from the Gang.

"Heeeeyyyyy!" They cried drunkenly. "Glad you guys could make it!"

"Okay," Sherlock was tugging at us, "Get behind the bar."

I couldn't see who had arrived over the heads of the others in the room. "No! That isn't-" My breath caught in my throat, "Oh my God."

"It's them!" Brienna half whispered, half yelled. Together we scurried through the lift door and into the safety of the bar.

"Now," Sherlock and John seemed to be bracing themselves. John's hand was inching toward his pocket. "In a few moments, that man is going to notice you haven't returned with his drink- thus calling attention to-"

"Hey!" Lyga, the huge, hulk of a man called out to us, "We didn't request bartenders- who're you!"

"Yes, hello!" Sherlock returned cheerfully before lowering his voice again so only we could hear it. "Now, in three, two, one-"

Our images registered in the Lovetts' brains. "Aren't you two... our babysitters?" All eyes were on us and the entire room was silent, so there really wasn't a need for Sherlock to shout, but he did anyway- "Now!"

John and Sherlock drew their guns and fired a few shots into the crowd. The minute the Gang recovered their senses tables and sofas were overturned and Brienna and I were shoved roughly to the dirty floor behind the bar counter with shouts of, "Get down!"

The room burst with the din of war noise. I curled in on myself, as if assuming the fetal position could keep bullets from ripping through my body and liquifying my insides. Sherlock and John hadn't fired any after the initial shots, I figured they only used the bullets as a warning- so no one would try approaching the bar and shooting at us from point-blank range. We had some level of protection there.

Suddenly, the gunshots got much louder and more frequent. I screamed and covered my ears. "What is going on!" someone yelled.

"That sounds like- someone's got a fully-automatic!"

"Like a machine gun?!" I cried. Like a machine gun. I could hear the shots pinging off the other side of the bar right next to my head. At any moment, one could break through and kill me in less than a second. My hands were shaking. I felt like I was going to vomit. After a few seconds passed with no bullets penetrating our fortress, I allowed myself to peek through my arms. Brienna looked like me- curled in on herself, head in her knees. Sherlock was clutching his gun like it held life; but John- all of the color in John's face had left. He looked like death personified. He seemed like he was lost in his own mind. Of course. This was scary as hell for Brienna, Sherlock, and me, but for John- it was a second Afghanistan. I had no prior experience with sufferers of PTSD, but I did the only thing I could think of at the moment. I reached out and put my hand on John's shoulder, anything to bring him out of his thoughts, and I kept it there until the bullets stopped.

* * *

Mycroft had the headset around his neck now, but he could still hear the gunshots. Beside him, Annette was chewing her nails nervously. The voices had stopped feeding through the microphone minutes ago- his brother, John Watson, and the two girls he put in danger for a case could very well be dead. What would he tell Mrs. Hudson?

"Lestrade!" Mycroft roared. He was sweating buckets. Deep worry-lines were etched into his features.

"On it, Mycroft." Lestrade was in the corner of the room, madly suiting up with others from the Yard. He already knew the details of the battle in the ballroom- huh, Battle in the Ballroom; John would definitely put that one in his blog, provided he was still alive.

"They're armed with machine guns." Mycroft muttered, turning pale.

"Taking care of it!" Lestrade barked. With that he yelled a quick order to his team and they bolted out the door and down several flights of stairs to the shootout.

* * *

I heard the crash of metal on wood and a deep, yet frantic, voice sliced through the din of the shots. It was Lestrade's.

"Alright!" He bellowed, "Everyone down on the ground! _Now_!"

I noticed the sounds of the bullets shifted slightly so they were no longer touching down on the other side of the bar. They were now ricocheting off of metal instead of embedding themselves in the wood of our makeshift fortress. A gust of breath flew out of my lungs. I had been holding it for what seemed like years. Keeping my hand on John's shoulder, I uncurled myself a little, getting brief, intense cramps as the blood returned to my limbs.

"Oh my God." I breathed. The terror wasn't over. We now had Greg and the team to worry about. For awhile, the gunshots worsened as the police created a seperate stand off, but, as the minutes passed, there were shouts of fleeing people and the din gradually ground to a halt. I vaguely remember Sherlock telling us not to move, and throwing a quick glance over the top of the bar before hastily ducking back down.

"What's it look like?" Brienna whispered to him.

"Everyone's gone." Sherlock sighed with gusto. For whole minutes after his announcement, we just sat in awed silence, save for our heavy breathing. I dropped my hand to my side and leaned against the curved shelves of alcohol that was too unnatractive to be displayed above the bar, and pondered how it was possible that we were all still alive. I could have sat there- literally- for forever.

After the better part of a quarter hour had passed in the utter, unspoken relief of four survivors, a click resounded throughout the stale room. Sherlock rolled his head a little from side to side, after having not moved since the beginning of the stand off.

"Took you long enough, Mycroft." He called, deducing his brother's actions with ease.

"Are you all still alive, then?" Mycroft inquired, not bothering to check on his own.

"Where did everyone go?" I was insanely curious- which was an understatement. Amidst the action I felt like I lost track of everyone save for the three with me now, and I had an insatiable need to get everything accounted for. No one made a move to get up and face the room or Mycroft, but I could hear him open his mouth to speak.

"Lestrade should be able to tell us." Sherlock interjected. At that moment, we heard another click and someone burst through the door.

"Ambulance is outside. How's everyone doing down there?" Lestrade panted loudly. Brienna and I took the opportunity to finally stand up. We were promptly bombarded with the image of a battlefield. The ballroom didn't even remotely resemble the beauty it was at the beginning of the night- sofas were shredded, tables were splintered, broken chandelier-glass littered the floor, and the entire room smelled like gunpowder and spilt scotch. Lestrade exhaled when he saw us.

"Oh-good." He breathed. "Sherlock and John?"

"Down here!" Sherlock swung himself up and over the bar, quickly reaching down to help his friend do the same. I noticed John had recovered a bit already.

"Anyone hurt?" Greg questioned. Sherlock was doubled over, examining the bullet wounds in the underbelly of the bar we had taken refuge behind.

We shook our heads. Lestrade stowed his gun away and lumbered over to half of a smoking sofa to take a seat. I took advantage of the silence that followed to launch myself at Mycroft and issue a firm bitch slap to his face. Everyone turned to look at me in surprise, and, as quickly as Gregory Lestrade had sat down, he was up again.

"Never _again,_ Mycroft Holmes!" I yelled. He pushed a hand to his stinging cheek. "You forced Brienna and I to do this stupid party and you didn't even check to make sure the criminals weren't _armed! _With _semi-automatics,_ no less!"

"Fully-Automatics." Sherlock corrected.

"Or if we would _know_ any of them!" I finished loudly.

I felt Lestrade's hand grip my slapping-arm. "Easy," He told me, "He feels guilty enough already." I could barely hear the DI over Sherlock's rolling, belly laughter. I glared at him, but he seemed unable to control himself.

"Sherlock!" Greg scolded. "Now is NOT the time."

Sherlock ignored him and turned to Brienna, "I'll hold him if you wanna have a go, too!" His normally pale skin was red with the effort of his giggles. Just as I was beginning to think he deserved a good slap as well, Brienna did the job for me.

"Don't. You. Even." She whispered dangerously. She looked exactly how I felt- dangling in a rough balance between tears and ultimate fury. Then, unexpecetedly, she grabbed her hand in pain. "Oh.. OW! Your- fuggin' cheekbones! Jesus Christ!"

"I saved your life!" Sherlock roared at her, looking as if he had been betrayed. "Gavin- get her a shock blanket."

"Greg-"

"Damn the shock blanket!" Brienna cried. "We are _big girls,_ Sherlock! You didn't save our lives- you blew our cover! We would have noticed the Lovett's eventually and handled it _ourselves!_" She looked as if she were about to strike Sherlock again, but thought of the expense of her hand.

"You were too busy trying to one-up your brother to realize that there could be consequences to your actions." I added, "For being so 'high-functioning' you can be incredibly thick."

John stepped forward and said quietly, "Don't- I mean, we've all tried. He won't get it."

Brienna and I must have looked at him a second too long, because I swear I saw him flinch a little.

* * *

Despite everything that happened tonight- our case didn't have a happy ending. Not bothering to go back to Baker Street, the four of us plus Lestrade, Mycroft, and a few officials returned to the humongous hotel suite that we had all grown to despise. Despite our protests, Sherlock, John, Brienna, and I were ALL stuffed into musty shock blankets, and someone handed us steaming tea in styrofoam cups. Within moments, we were huddled together on a fully intact sofa, numbly recieving a debriefing of sorts.

"-We caught the location of the hostages in the background noise on your mics," Mycroft was saying, "We sent a team the moment we heard it."

"So where are they?" someone asked. I was so exhausted that I couldn't tell if it was me or one of the others that had questioned him. I was past the point of caring.

"Off the northern coast of Wales. In a cruise ship." Mycroft sipped at his tea. Both he and Lestrade sat across from the four of us, both looking at us as if we had just finished telling them the saddest story in all of London.

"So? Are they safe?"

This time Lestrade answered, "Well, not yet. It's one thing knowing where to find your hostages, another trying to evacuate them from their captors. Unfortunately-"

"Because of my dear brother," Mycroft interjected offhandedly. I briefly began calculating how I fast I could throttle both he and Sherlock at the same time.

"Unfortunately..." Lestrade continued, "Most of the Venus Rose Gang escaped. We got a few for questioning, but it doesn't matter. The ones who got away can communicate with their buddies on the ship. They're probably moving locations as we speak."

I slumped a little. The entire stressful day had been in vain. Even the kids we had to babysit (was it only this morning we did that?) belonged to criminals. I sighed and put my head on Brienna's shoulder, letting the rest of the inquiries and information wash over me until it was the background noise for my restless dreams.

* * *

And there you have it, kids. The end to an entirely too long scenario that I actually quite enjoyed writing, thank you very much. R and R.


	5. Surgery

So I know people do not typically act like this after their wisdom teeth are out, but I figured, in a dimension where my best friend and I solve crimes with Sherlock, something like this could slide as well. Enjoy!

* * *

"Bored." Sherlock muttered.

John shifted in his chair and flicked his newspaper. "Well. Brienna had her wisdom teeth removed, you could help with that."

Sherlock glanced around the small flat in confusion. "Where is she?" Suddenly, a bundle of blankets that had been propped on the sofa moved and a waterfall of frizzy red hair emerged from the depths of it. Brienna sat up unsteadily, having just rejoined the world after a long, drug-induced nap.

"Ughhh..." She complained.

"What-"

"UGGHGHHHH..."

"Someone needs more drugs." John murmured.

Sherlock jumped up, "I'm contacting Lestrade." He stalked over to his mobile and punched a frantic text onto the screen. John's paper slipped from his hand.

"What? Why?" He demanded, standing up. "Lestrade's got enough to worry-"

"Because, John, Brienna's sick. I can't take care of sick people- I don't know how. And I imagine it's dreadfully dull."

John stared at his best friend. "Really?" He questioned, "The first person you call is Greg? Are you forgetting I'm a doctor?" Sherlock ignored him, choosing instead to stalk sulkily into his bedroom as if Brienna were draining his happiness rather than suffering on her own terms. John glanced at the frazzled Brienna, who met his eyes with a glazed-over stare.

"And she's not sick!" John called toward the bedroom, "She's had surgery."

"Drugs..." Brienna protested before falling back into the cushions. She sighed.

"Where'd you leave them?"

"Mmm... dunno." A muffled giggle issued from within the blanket-pile. John couldn't help but laugh. He had never seen Brienna this way, and Heidi was missing all the fun. While Dr. Watson busied himself looking for the bottle of pills, he could vaguely hear the incapacitated red-head calling for Sherlock.

"Sherlooooooccckkk! Sherly, sherl sherl sherlyy," She continued singing his name in varying tones until he finally opened his door with a quick impatience.

"What!"

"Sherll- oh. Umm. Come out here! Yeah."

"...No." The door was shut once again.

Silence. Then, "Jooohhhnn. Johhnnyy, John John-"

"What, Brienna?" John called from the kitchen. She gasped suddenly and he heard a loud thud from the main room of the flat. "Brienna?"

"Iss okay! Just fell." She slurred. "Are you in the kitchen?"

"Yeah?"

There was a shuffle of blankets and a quick padding of bare feet on carpet. Suddenly Brienna appeared by John's chair.

"No nonono no no!" She cried.

"What-"

"Don't open up the refridge!" Brienna took a deep breath, "Sherlock keeps HEADS in there."

John stared in her direction; then, he chuckled. Guiding Brienna back to the safety of the sofa, he handed her pills and a glass from the tap. She took it with a huge smile and relented, "Hey, John. You're really nice. Do you-" Brienna swayed a bit, "D'you know else who's nice?"

John decided he'd humor her, "No, who?"

Brienna squinted with the effort of remembering. "Uh. Well, uh, he's... Oh m'god I can't remember his name. And he's ALL over the papers." She seemed as if she were about to cry in frustration.

John raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. "Out of curiosity, would this man happen to live here?"

Brienna looked at him with an expression of sudden revelation, "_Does _he?" She swayed once more and then snapped forward. "Oh! That Sherlock Holmes character. He's REALLY nice. I would even go so far as- as far as to say that you two should KISS." She giggled again. John took a deep breath with the patience only a great doctor could possess, and stood up.

"Yes, you've made that quite clear already."

Furrowing her brows, Brienna protested up to him, "No- I mean like _really_ kiss, you know?" She laughed apologetically, "I'm sorry, I can't explain it right."

Suddenly, from outside, a loud siren sounded.

"Sherlock!" John demanded, "What exactly did you text Greg?" He rushed to the window and found a hastily parked squad car with its lights flashing two stories down. Instead of recieving an answer, the door burst open and Lestrade bolted into the flat, firearm first.

"Whoa whoa whoa! Put it down, Greg!" John yelled. Lestrade slowed up a little.

"What's going on? Where's Sherlock?"

"Bedroom, he's-"

"Is he alright?" Looking at the apologetic expression on John's face and the calm situation before him, Lestrade was slowly coming down off his high. He lowered his gun. "He's fine isn't he?" He asked flatly. John cocked his head toward him and lowered his arms from when he had instincively thrown them in the air.

"Sorry, mate." John apologized, "Hope you weren't doing something important."

Greg stowed his gun away in its holster and took a deep breath, "Well, no- I was just-"

"Lestrade!" Brienna, who had been in the process of tugging off her socks to play puppets with them, just recognized their new visitor. Flinging her stockings away, she cooed again, "Leeeesssstrrraaadeee!" She reached out to him the way a child would to its mother.

Gregory Lestrade looked disturbingly between her and John, "Hi?" To John, "What's the matter with her?"

"Surgery."

"Ah. Hullo, Brienna!" He waved cheerily.

"Actually, that's why Sherlock called you here. He seems to think you're the only one capable of dealing with her."

"Why-"

Brienna leaned dangerously forward on the sofa and looked the DI straight in his pure-chocolate eyes, "I love you Graha- Gavin... Geronomo?"

"Greg!" Sherlock corrected from his bedroom. Suddenly his door opened. "You see why I needed you here, Detective?"

"You _do_ know my name, you son of a-"

"HEY!" Brienna's shout bounced through flat 221b. All eyes shifted to her. "I want ice cream."

For moments, all was silent. Then everyone began making excuses at once, doing their damnest to exit the room nonchalantly.

"Well," Lestrade began. "I guess I could run to the store-"

"No, you have to stay. Because I love you." Brienna reasoned. Just then, as the most recent dosage of medicine took effect, she fell face forward into the cushions with a groan.

No one spoke, then- "Oh.. is-"

"Is she-"

"Sleeping, then?"

The three men were murmuring to each other in uncertainty. Cautiously, Sherlock moved forward slightly and gingerly reached an arm out to prod her shoulder. The minute he did so she snapped up so suddenly that all three jumped back in fright.

"Agh!"

"Jesus-"

Brienna was stick straight, eyes wide open in perfect clarity, "Am I... m'I dead?" She slurred, struggling to focus on Sherlock's face. When no answer came, she swayed and fell back down onto the sofa. She was immediately unconcious.


	6. Sherlock's Birthday

Part One

* * *

"Did you get a strange text, too?" I glanced up from my mobile at my red-haired best friend, Brienna, who was indecisively leaning against the door to the ice cream freezer.

"I haven't checked… what does it say?" All thoughts of frozen delicacies aside, the two of us bent over the screen of my phone to analyze the strange message. It read – 221b Baker St. 7:00. Tell no one.

It was four forty, now.

"What is that!" Brienna cried. She whipped out her mobile to reveal an identical text message. "Do we go?" She continued in slight despair, "What if we die?"

I thought for a second. Of course our first instincts were to call John or Sherlock but the message warned against it. Was it a threat? What if we put someone in danger?

"We need bracelets that say 'What Would Sherlock Do?'" I mumbled. "What exactly _would_ Sherlock do?"

Despite our situation, Brienna smiled a little and steepled her fingers in a way that directly imitated our consulting detective. "He would complain." She mused, "Then he would shout 'The Game is On!' And proceed to run out the door like a maniac."

"And he would call John." I sighed. "Should we? Is it dangerous?"

"Would Sherlock care if it were dangerous?" Brienna retorted. I chewed my lip.

"But Sherlock wouldn't put his boy toy in danger! And I certainly don't want to!"

"True."

Brienna and I fell silent and stared thoughtfully at our groceries. Deciding we should at least finish shopping before our possible imminent deaths, the two of us quickly scoured the store for the remainder of the items on our list and managed to make it to the checkout by 5:30. Curiously enough, there was a message waiting for us, and it came in the form of a timid cashier with a receiver pressed tightly to his ear.

"Pucket and Lancaster?" The stunted kid pointed a bent finger at us, almost accusingly.

"Yeah?" My heart picked up the pace a little with the anxiety that came with strange scenarios and reprimands from figures of authority. The cashier turned back into the phone and nodded as if the caller could see him.

"Uh. He says there's a taxi waiting for you outside. I don't know who he is- sorry." The employee kept his ear to the phone but he was obviously speaking to us. We took a peak outside to find the mystery caller wasn't lying; a sleek taxi cab was idling just out of the entrance of the grocery store.

"It isn't even six yet! Baker Street isn't that far away." I protested. Then I looked at Brienna. "I'm assuming it's the same person?"

She nodded at me, "Probably."

"Yeah," I continued. "Tell this guy you're talking to that we have an hour and a-"

The cashier cut me off. "He says 'We need you now.'"

In the silence that followed both Brienna and I reeled back a little bit. How did he hear me say that? Were we being watched? Who's 'we?' For the longest time we said nothing, until the cashier finally replaced the phone and told us that the man had hung up. He sort of awkwardly apologized and retreated solemnly into the back room, leaving Brienna and I to wonder if we should have been worried.

"This has gotta be Mycroft." Brienna relented flatly. I looked back outside at the taxi and agreed. This whole situation pretty much reeked of him- with the exception of how daunting and threatening he made it seem. I mean, after our last run in with that son of a- I would have guessed he had earned some humility toward us.

"He's just looking for another smack isn't he?"

We left our groceries unchecked and unpaid for and hurried out into the waiting taxi.

"What do you mean, 'who sent me?'" The cabbie questioned over his shoulder. "You mean who called for a cab?" His loud gum-chewing punctured the sound of the rattling innards of the taxi and the wind whistling through the shoddy, duct-taped frame. We had to converse loudly just to be heard in the crap-wagon.

"Don't you work for anyone?" Brienna prodded, trying to get the Mycroft answer out of him.

"You're just a regular cab-driver?" I inquired. In response, the stereotypically gruff cabbie cleared his throat and placed his elbow on the console.

"Sorry to disappoint."

We pulled up to flat 221 and its accompanying café and the battered taxi jerked twice before stopping with an uncomfortable pitch. In a few moments I was out of the vehicle and right back in again asking, "Wait- do we need to pay you?" Thankfully, Brienna was already handing him the money. The cabbie twisted around and smirked at me, "Never been in a cab before, sweetheart?"

My face grew hot at his comment and I couldn't help but explain, "Don't patronize me! We're being kidnapped. I didn't think we were expected to pay!"

"Kidnapped-!"

"Yeah, yeah." We really didn't have time for niceties, "Just wait here." I instructed our driver. "And if we don't come back out and wave you off in a few minutes call the police, okay?"

I slammed the door before anymore was said and together, Brienna and I approached flat 221. We didn't give ourselves time to think about the consequences of this visit if Mycroft wasn't behind it all, and instead, gave the door a few sharp knocks. When there was no answer I turned around and glanced back at the cab. The driver was peering expectantly at us. Brienna knocked again, hesitantly this time. Suddenly, the door shrank away from us and was immediately replaced with a worked up Mrs. Hudson.

"Just stir it!" She was calling wildly up the stairs. Brienna and I immediately let out huge breaths.

"Mrs. Hudson!" We cried. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

"Oh, girls!" The tiny land lady reached out and pulled us inside, but not before we snagged the opportunity to give the 'okay' symbol to the cabbie, who peeled out and down the street. We tried grilling Mrs. Hudson for answers but she skirted quickly away from us, beckoning Brienna and I to follow her.

"You're just in time to help decorate!" She called over her shoulder as we trotted up the stairs to 221b. "I have to do the cooking and-" Here, Mrs. Hudson whispered aside to us, "Mycroft is useless."

"Decorate for what!" We cried uselessly into the flat when we reached the top of the steps. Mycroft suddenly popped out from around the corner in Sherlock's kitchen, prompting Mrs. Hudson to scold him for abandoning the cooking before quickly taking over herself.

"It's Sherlock's birthday." Mycroft explained with a self-absorbed smile, "And I'm throwing him a surprise party."  
"Your _mum_ is throwing Sherlock the party!" Mrs. Hudson corrected.

Mycroft cast his eyes downward and cleared his throat in defeat, "Yes. Well, mum and dad aren't in the area so they commissioned me to organize the event instead."

The room was silent for a moment. Then, Brienna and I let off a string of outbursts fit for an annoyance like Mycroft Holmes.

"Why did no one tell us sooner?"

"We thought we were going to die!"

"We worried about everyone!"

"We didn't finish our shopping!"

"Why are you so power-crazy!"

Maddeningly, Mycroft showed little emotion. "You're perfectly aware that Sherlock would have deduced this from you if I had told you any sooner."

We didn't remind him that a simple phone call a few minutes ago would have sufficed. Scaring his brother's friends on a regular basis seemed to be Mycroft's only outlet for 'fun.' Sherlock had cases and Mycroft had this. What a family.

"Anyway, John's got Sherlock out on a date until eight tonight." Mycroft breezed, to which Mrs. Hudson giggled, "_Date!"_

"-And we need you to decorate so Mrs. Hudson can finish the baking." Mycroft pulled his mobile from his trouser pocket and began dialing. With one last cocky glance at us, he pushed the phone against his ear and swept elegantly from the room, leaving us to take care of Sherlock's party.

"Right! We'll just cancel all of our other plans, then?" Brienna called out irritably. A light-hearted response sounded from the kitchen.

"Greg will be here tonight, dear." I could hear the teasing smile in Mrs. Hudson's voice as she said this. Without another word, Brienna grabbed a roll of streamers and hopped up on John's chair.

At a quarter to eight, a knock sounded at the door downstairs and Brienna jumped at the chance.

"I'll get it!" She called to Mrs. Hudson, who was almost finished frosting Sherlock's cake. I had just put the last pieces of tape on the streamers and balloons when I heard a shuffle downstairs and Molly's high-pitched voice call out "We brought the wine!"

Molly and Lestrade stomped up the stairs moments later looking bright-eyed and jolly. They were followed by Brienna who stealthily made eye-contact with me so she could point at Lestrade's spiffy new blazer and mouth, "Look at what he's wearing!" And proceed to fan herself.

At that very moment, the entire room flew into a tizzy. Mrs. Hudson asked if anyone was in contact with John so we knew how soon the boys were arriving. Mycroft appeared from wherever he had been hiding for the past few hours of not helping us. Molly dropped at least two bottles of wine; and my mobile immediately began buzzing off the hook.

"Oh, it's John!" I called into the frantic room. "He says we should call him and pretend to be in trouble- Sherlock refuses to stop working on the case." I glanced back at my phone, "What case?"

Across the flat, Mycroft raised a nonchalant palm. "I came up with a little something for him to do today. I really thought he'd have figured out it was fake by now."

"At any rate…" I mumbled, quickly punching in John's number.

"Hello?"

"John!" I cried.

"What is it? Is everything okay?"

I polished off my dusty acting skills a bit for the enjoyment of the party of people around me and began a little panic attack.

"No! No- it's… it's-" I chose the first person I laid eyes on. "It's Molly!"

"Molly-?"

Damn, either I was good at acting or John was. He sounded genuinely worried.

"She's _dead, _John." I searched for another face as Molly burst into a fit of laughter and excused herself from the room. "Mycroft killed her. I saw it happen, myself!"

John's voice got quiet, "You're terrible at this," He breathed. Then, louder, "Sherlock, something's wrong. Something's happened at Baker Street."

The line clicked into silence and the entire flat erupted into giggles. Mycroft quickly interrupted the fun and barked out orders to clean up the wine spill and begin finding hiding places before the two arrived home. In all the commotion, Brienna sidled up next to me and gave a half-nod in the direction of the miniscule pile of presents on the table next to Mrs. Hudson's cake. There was a paper-thin package from Lestrade; a long, clothing box from Molly; a bookish looking parcel from Mrs. Hudson; and an unwrapped, very fancy watch courtesy of Mycroft.

"We didn't get him anything…" Brienna pointed out. At that moment, Mrs. Hudson was passing behind us, obviously catching what we were discussing.

"Nonsense, girls! You helped with the party!" She dismissed with a smile and a wave. "And you didn't know-"

"We should have paid attention." I protested guiltily. "And you got him something!"

"Ohhhh." Mrs. Hudson shook her head modestly. "It's nothing big, really."

Mycroft's voice cut through the commotion, "They'll be here any minute. Get down!"

The next few minutes were filled with scattering people and whisperings of-

"I've got the lights!"

"Do you reckon I could fit up here?"

"Be quiet!"

"I can't see-"

"Hahah hey!"

"Shut it!"

We were barely quiet enough to hear John's defeated, "Can it, guys. He figured it out."

"Wait, wait, wait, I think they're here-"

"What? Should we, uh- surpri-"

"SURPRISE!"

The lights flicked back on to reveal a slumped John Watson, a frazzled Sherlock Holmes, and a room full of buzzed and clueless partygoers. We took the next few awkward moments to clear our throats and smile at the floor.

"Right." Sherlock nodded curtly and swept- much like his brother- out of sight. Molly's head swiveled around and she trotted after him calling meagerly, and with a slight drunkenness, "Wai- wait. Sherlock?"

"Yes, Molly Hooper?" Came a monotonous sigh from Sherlock's bedroom.

"Aren't you surprised?"

My heart sank a little. It almost sounded as if Molly were going to cry. There was a pause in which Sherlock said nothing at all, then, his door swung open and he stalked into the kitchen and to the fridge, not looking at anyone. He had changed out of his coat and scarf.

"No. Leave."

"I knew this wasn't a good idea." Mycroft whispered behind me. I placed a hand dejectedly on the back of an empty chair.

"Leave-?"

"Sherlock Holmes." Mrs. Hudson was straightening up and in the process of handing me her wineglass almost before I realized it. I nearly dropped the thing. "I've baked you a cake, these two wonderful girls have done the entirety of the decorating themselves, we've all brought you presents, and your dear brother has organized this party for all of us to get together and celebrate you." Her voice was growing more motherly by the word, "You are going to have some wine _and _some cake. And you will enjoy your birthday!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the room. "Mycroft organized-"

"Not the point, Sherlock!"John glared at his best friend, who said nothing.

"Well?" Mrs. Hudson demanded of the clueless detective. "Sherlock?"

"Thank you." The man nodded awkwardly and proceeded to pour a glass of wine. Almost as if Mrs. Hudson had a switch in her brain, her face lit up from peeved mum to happy landlady in the time it took to get Sherlock Holmes drunk, and the party began.


End file.
